


Jerome takes Jim to the Dentist

by Killer_Rabbit_of_Caerbannog



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: AU where Jerome never died, Bad Touch, Blood and Injury, Body Horror, Choking, Jim whump, M/M, inappropriate use of dentistry equipment
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-28
Updated: 2020-06-28
Packaged: 2021-03-04 03:13:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,117
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24962824
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Killer_Rabbit_of_Caerbannog/pseuds/Killer_Rabbit_of_Caerbannog
Summary: Little ficlet of Jerome and Jeremiah having fun hurting Jim while Bruce watches.
Relationships: Jeremiah Valeska/Bruce Wayne, Jim Gordon/Jerome Valeska
Comments: 8
Kudos: 25





	Jerome takes Jim to the Dentist

**Author's Note:**

> This is just me indulging in my love for villains properly tormenting Jim to hurt Bruce, because we were robbed. Tie that pretty man up more, make him bleed, make Bruce watch and cry! Pretty heroes all bloody and broken is good for the soul, like chicken soup.

“Don’t do this,” Bruce begs as he pulls against chains biting into his flesh.

Jim wants to tell him not to struggle, not to worry, even to just look away, but he can barely swallow around the fingers in his mouth, stroking over his tongue. He bites down hard until blood fills his mouth, but his teeth hit hard metal, preventing him from biting to the bone. Jerome pulls back his hand with an exaggerated pout, inspecting the wound and licking away the blood until the gold of the ring gleams through. Jim flinches at the sight. His wedding band, the symbol of that sacred promise he’d made, sitting on that psychopath’s hand, starkly bright against the bloody teeth marks. Jerome catches his eye and drops a kiss on the ring, giggling when Jim’s bloody spit hits him directly on his chin.

“Not so rough, baby, you know I like it gentle,” Jerome chides.

Jeremiah’s sigh is long suffering as Jerome leans in to rub his nose against Jim’s. “Can we hurry this along?” he drawls, tapping the pliers against his thigh.

Jerome blows a raspberry over his shoulder, jamming his other hand into the soft underside of Jim’s jaw until he spasms and his muscles slacken, allowing Jeremiah to shove the pliers between his teeth. At the taste of cold metal, Jim stills, wary now as the twins stare down at him with identical looks of excitement.

“STOP THIS!” Bruce screams, voice cracking, but it’s only Jeremiah who spares him a glance.

“Please, Jeremiah, you can stop this now before it’s too late. The GCPD are already on their way, and it’s not too late for you.” It’s unconvincing, desperate, but still drawing a shiver from Jeremiah at the naked terror in Bruce’s voice. For a split second, Jim thinks he could use that against Jeremiah somehow, maybe win him away from Jerome long enough to- The pliers catch on Jim’s back molar and Jerome sucks a breath through his teeth, clamping his muscled thighs around Jim’s lap as he presses his arm into Jim’s throat. When Jim begins to choke, a dark light springs into Jerome’s eyes, a hardness pressing against Jim’s belly as Jerome giggles. Jeremiah blinks, tearing his eyes away from Bruce’s wet eyes to steady himself on his brother’s shoulder as he pulls.

“PLEASE!” Bruce’s voice cracks on his next words. “Please, take me instead. You can… you can hurt me, kill me, whatever, but let Detective Gordon go.”

“Now now, Brucie, you’ll spoil the best part,” Jerome cackles, grinding his crotch into Jim’s tensed stomach.

Blood floods Jim’s mouth as Jeremiah frowns, twisting the pliers. He can feel the root coming free from his gums, feel the sickening slide as the tooth slowly pulls free from his flesh. The pliers are too bulky, barely fitting in Jim’s mouth, but Jeremiah shifts, levers his arm against Jerome’s shoulder and back to give one final yank until the molar slides free.

“Oooh, the Tooth Fairy will give you a fiver for that one!” Jerome tells his brother, dropping his mouth to lick at the blood pouring down Jim’s chin. Jim flexes his arms against the chains keeping him to the chair, feeling more than hearing the scrap of metal over the wood. It’s flimsy, probably particleboard, deceptively breakable if the right pressure is applied. Jeremiah is dangerous for his mind, not his body, but Jerome is another story, his attention focused entirely on Jim. Getting the drop on him will be hard. Jim lets his eyes droop as he grins a bloody red, watching carefully as Jerome jerks, delight curling through him as he answers the smile with his own, cracked skin stretching over his stapled face.

“Are we playing, Jimbo?” Jerome whispers, curling his hands around Jim’s throat and squeezing.

“You think I’d play with you?” Jim hisses, all smug detachment that he knows still riles up Jerome’s latent mommy issues.

The smile drops from Jerome’s face as his fingers tighten, squeezing again until Jim gasps for air. “You’ll play if I want to,” he growls against Jim’s bloody mouth. His voice turns sullen and whiney even as his nails bite into Jim’s flesh. “Play with me or I’ll run home crying and tell on yooooou~ You’re such a meanie, Jimbo, breaking my poor tender heart like that.”

Pressing his chest against Jim’s, Jerome shoves his fingers along Jim’s remaining teeth until he finds the empty socket. Hooking his fingers into Jim’s cheek, Jerome pulls as he slots his mouth over Jim’s. The tip of his tongue prods against the exposed gum, and more than anything the twins had done to Jim so far, this somehow felt too intimate, too invasive. He jerks his head away, but Jerome’s red-painted mouth is still disgustingly satisfied.

Jeremiah scowls, throwing away the tooth and snapping the pliers. “This is taking too long. As much as I hate to admit it, I think your way would be more effective, Brother.”

Jerome crows with delight, sliding off of Jim’s lap to rummage in his duffle bag at Bruce’s feet, whistling ‘Pop Goes The Weasel’.

Bruce’s face whitens as Jerome pulls out the contents with a flourish.

The tent peg is black steel, obscenely large, and sharpened to a fine point. A circus tent peg. Jerome twirls it like a baton, before juggling the peg with the heavy mallet.

“What do you think?” Jerome asks his brother, still juggling the peg and mallet. “Try to chisel those pearly whites outta Jimbo’s mouth, or just play whack-a-mole on his pretty face until his teeth come loose?”

Tilting his head, Jeremiah’s pale eyes flicker over Jim’s face. He says nothing as he plucks the tent peg from his brother’s hands and slides it against Jim’s jaw and down his neck.

“What are you doing?” Bruce is panicking again, voice hoarse as he strains to see around the twins. “Leave him alone! You can take me instead, please, just take me instead!”

Jeremiah tilts his head as he listens to Bruce' begging, shifting his body slightly so Bruce can see when he stops the tent peg over Jim’s hand. Terror blinds Jim for a second as the sharp wood presses between the delicate bones of his hands, the knowledge that even if he survives this, he’ll be crippled forever. No more shooting guns. Bruce is screaming properly now, a broken litany of ‘No!’ that makes Jeremiah shiver and sigh, wetting his pale lips as he nods to his brother.

Jerome cackles, lining up the mallet.

Bruce is still screaming, still begging, as police sirens sound in the distance, blending with the echoing crack as the mallet drives the peg into flesh.

**Author's Note:**

> Whether or not Jim is down a finger or two, or that peg is now embedded in Jerome's skull is entirely up to you, dear readers.


End file.
